


The Feelings

by blod1tatws



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Gen, Minor Violence, Post The Great Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-29 07:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blod1tatws/pseuds/blod1tatws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was shocked to see John at that pool. But things are not as they seem. What happened in the pool might expose some secrets that Sherlock has been hiding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first venture on AO3, but I have posted this on FanFiction, so if you've read it before...well, no harm in reading it again, I suppose! 
> 
> It will be lovely to get any feedback, but no pressure. I just do this to relieve stress (I may have lied here, university only provides occasional stress ie exam times. Hate them) and let my creative side get a chance to play once in a while! Enjoy anyway!
> 
> Don't own the characters, obviously.

All the knowledge in his high-functioning brain, all of the experience he had, all the cases he had solved ranging from the easy ones to downright crazy, were useless in the eerie pool room. His eyes never left the dark, cold, malicious ones before him. The red dots roamed his body but never left him, ready to pounce when those dark eyes signalled them to. Never in his life had Sherlock Holmes hated someone so much as he did then. But not because of all the things Moriarty had done to him. "Making him dance" as he said only minutes ago, but now it seemed like hours. Everything happened so quickly after that.

Seeing John walk into that building, his face calm but something else was combined also. Sherlock was not a man for feelings, but the feeling of betrayal was still fresh in his mind when he thought that John was Moriarty. How had John done this without the great Sherlock Holmes seeing it? How had he planned all those murders, kidnappings and all matter of crimes with him not deducing it? But when John opened the bulky coat and he saw the bomb strapped to him, he felt guilty for ever thinking that John betrayed him, tricked him in anyway. That guilt had been suddenly replaced by fear, because that bomb could go off any second and kill the only friend he had. He had acquaintances, Lestrade for instance, and he remembered asking John once which enemy he had spoken to.

"Normal people don't have arch-enemies" "And what do normal people have in their daily lives?" "Friends, relatives, boyfriend, girlfriend..." "Dull."

Everything normal Sherlock saw as being dull. But he had come accustomed to living with Doctor John Watson, their friendly banter only occasionally becoming serious. The way John saw things, the fact that he always helped him out in whatever case he was solving, came to his defence when things turned bad but also scolded him for being his usual arrogant, rude self. The things Sherlock did still fascinated John even though he'd seen him do it countless times, as if it was still the first time. Sherlock did like the compliments John gave him for his deductions.

John was a friend, from very first time he entered the flat. Seeing the bomb strapped to ignited in Sherlock unknown feelings of fear; fear for someone he cared about. Meeting the mysterious Moriarty for the first time did not interest him so much as seeing John look scared and ready to be blown up at any time. Sherlock had glanced at him several times while still keeping an eye on the mad, singing Moriarty coming ever closer to him. Luckily he had thought to bring John's gun, as mere seconds after Moriarty walked in he instinctively reached for it. He wanted to hear what Moriarty had to say, but was more worried about John than anything else. He had brushed off the threats on his own life, only for John to place his life for Sherlock's. Sherlock had been stunned at that moment, despite John pleading him to run, he couldn't move. Everyone wanted one thing from Sherlock- his mind. But John seemed to care more for his life, to place it before his own as if he was someone important or worth something special. John had quickly let go of Moriarty as he saw the red dot shining from Sherlock's forehead. The army doctor knew what that meant. 

More words were said between Sherlock and Moriarty but he barely took notice of what they were before Moriarty quickly left. "Catch...you...later" "No you won't!" The sing-song way Moriarty uttered these words echoed around the room. The only thing Sherlock could think of at that moment was to rip that bomb attached to John and to fling it away from them, which he did. Sherlock couldn't utter the words that were formed in his mind. Thank you. John always knew how to lighten a mood and as they both chuckled, the red dots that had threatened them before returned with a vengeance, as if they'd been cheated before of the life they were supposed to take.

And here was Sherlock now, staring daringly into Moriarty's nonchalant expression. Sherlock couldn't deduce much, as Moriarty was a master of puzzling him. But that nonchalant expression hid what truly lay beneath, the anger and the disbelief that Sherlock was in front of him, and the ugly mouth of the gun he'd held from the start pointing at the bomb. Those cold, dark eyes seemed to think that he wouldn't dare blow up the building, clearly killing them all. But Sherlock was already one step ahead of him as he had signalled John what to do next.

Nothing in Sherlock's entire life prepared him for this moment. But he was Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. He was intelligent, deductive, enigmatic, resourceful, dynamic. He was not going to lose. He was going to win. He had seen tonight that he had feelings, and it gave him courage to do what he was supposed to do.

One final smile towards Moriarty.


	2. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revealing the bomb to Sherlock was hard because he didn't want Sherlock to worry about him when something much darker was approaching.

He was back in a deathly position. He'd just gotten over the horrors of the Afghanistan War. Well, he didn't get over it on his own; the tall, thin man standing still beside him had a big part in it. Even now, he couldn't believe that such an arrogant, clever, detached, brilliant man had saved him from himself, from the endless nightmares haunting him even when he was awake. The running after serial killers, looking at clues at four in the morning, and even staring at dead people trying to work out what happened to them had helped him move on, not entirely, but a little from the demons of war.

Sherlock Holmes was a brilliant man, a genius, "enigmatic" as he once called himself. John could never have seen a force like Sherlock coming his way, blasting into his life, denting it with no chance of fixing that dent. But he liked it. "Trust issues." That's what his therapist told him, and yet from nearly the first day- well at least the second day when they went through so much together- he couldn't help but trust Sherlock, defend him, stick up for him and helped him out of any sticky situation he'd idiotically put himself.

That second day after they had met will stick in his mind forever. He saw Sherlock in action, deducing deaths seemingly hard to figure out, but in Sherlock's brain had information on the pink lady with just a glance. John had refused to take money from Mycroft Holmes (even though he didn't know him at that time) to give information on Sherlock. Trust issues. Even then he couldn't take money to "spy" on Sherlock's every move, even though Sherlock chastised him for not taking the money so next time they could "split the fee." He'd texted a murderer, something he still couldn't believe to this day. They went to a restaurant to try and catch the mentioned murderer but that only resulted in running wildly around the backstreets and buildings of London. They'd gone back to the flat so see a drugs bust in action (couldn't quite believe that Sherlock was once a drugs user!) Sherlock then disappeared and when John eventually found him, Sherlock was close to taking what could have been a poisonous pill. Lucky he had his gun, lucky for Sherlock he'd been there at just the right time. Yes, he didn't like the fact that he had killed a man, but like he told Sherlock he wasn't a very nice man and he would have done it ten times over knowing that Sherlock was in trouble.

His limp had disappeared then. All those weeks of loneliness and nightmares had changed, replaced by hours and hours of either murder solving, or collapsed on top of his bed too tired to do much because of said murder solving.

When Moriarty had kidnapped him and strapped that bomb on him, he was scared. Of course he was, who wouldn't be? He knew right then that this had something to do with Sherlock. There had only been four pips for Sherlock to solve, of course he should have known he would be the last. He was the closest thing to a friend Sherlock might have ever had.

For friends they are now. Whether Sherlock was looking for friendship or not, considering that Sherlock found things like friends "dull." It was probably the numerous times they saved each other from potential death, the solving cases or even fighting over the inane experiments Sherlock did that ensured their friendship.

Of course Sherlock could be difficult, he was Sherlock Holmes! Running around London in the small hours, solving gruesome deaths, waking up to an endless screeching- Sherlock scraping on his violin for hours and hours...and hours. Waking up in the morning to find various body parts in the fridge or in pots and pans, he couldn't eat anything in that house for a week after that. The flat always looked as if a tornado had ripped through it: newspapers, books, mugs, violin, skull, clothes EVERYWHERE. Sherlock never did the tidying up, and after one unsuccessful attempt where John had nearly sliced his hand on a sword that was weirdly under Sherlock's chair, he never tried again. Sherlock wouldn't even go to the shops to buy milk! John always had to do the shopping because if it was up to Sherlock they wouldn't have any food, him being able to go without for days when on a case despite John's insistence that he ate something. Sherlock didn't seem to care about his health, while John was constantly worried about Sherlock's health, fearing he would collapse any second with lack of food or drink...well the only thing Sherlock drank during a case was coffee. Sherlock always puts himself in danger, always wanting that thrill, some sort of addiction. John didn't know what was worse: an addiction to danger or to drugs (having found out that yes, Sherlock had taken drugs at one stage in his life. He never would have believed it of him).

But all of that couldn't outweigh the positives. John witnessed Sherlock's lack of empathy for the victims, his coldness towards others or being downright rude, being arrogant and dismissive of other people's suggestions, and just being plain difficult. The way Sherlock treated Molly because he knew she had a thing for him was cruel at times, charming her to get his own way. There was more to Sherlock than that. John had changed him. John had changed as well.

He was on his way to meet Sarah for their next date, and the next thing he remembered was being taken into a dark vehicle with no idea what was happening. It was like he was drugged or something, everything seemed to happen in a daze so quickly, being strapped to a bomb, a wire in his ear. He didn't know where he was until he was ordered to enter the pool room. On his way he could hear Sherlock talking aloud, even though he couldn't tell what he was saying. When he entered the room and saw Sherlock, he didn't have time to think about what he was doing before a voice came into his ear. Even then, that voice sent chills down his spine it was so cold and dark. The bulky coat he was wearing hid the bomb from Sherlock, and hid the fear in his body, while he tried to keep the fear in his face at bay, lest someone should shoot him right there and then.

The expression on Sherlock's face when he entered that room will stick in his mind for the rest of his life, that being sooner rather than later. Confusion was mixed with hurt and betrayal. John had never seen Sherlock show much of emotion. Yes, he had seen him excited and happy during a case, bored during the times he didn't have anything to do, but not real emotion that overflowed him. According to others who knew Sherlock before he did, this was a big improvement, that John must have done something in Sherlock's life to make him just the tiniest bit human, just a little bit. The expression of hurt on Sherlock's face stayed there when John had to repeat Moriarty's words in a calm and cold voice which he was far from feeling.

Revealing the bomb to Sherlock was hard because he didn't want Sherlock to worry about him when something much darker was approaching. Sherlock seemed disturbed by John repeating Moriarty's words. When Moriarty entered the pool room and spoke to Sherlock about being a "Consulting Criminal" and warning them to back off, Sherlock kept glancing at John, as if worried he was in pain or had been killed already. This touched John, because he seemed genuinely scared for him, not worrying about his own life, having already brushed off threats to his own life, but was scared for John Watson.

When Moriarty stood in front of him, an impulse in him made him grab Moriarty from behind, grasping on tightly so that he couldn't escape. He was giving Sherlock a chance to run away from the eerie pool room, to save his own life. He didn't care for his own life, it was much more important that Sherlock survived because he was worth more than himself, his "gift" of some sort more important than anything he could do. It didn't surprise him that Sherlock stayed where he was, John's gun still pointing at Moriarty. He was the physical side of the duo, always carrying his gun everywhere where Sherlock was concerned. He constantly had to deny they were a couple, because he really wasn't gay, even though he wasn't sure about Sherlock. Something told him that Sherlock wasn't, that he didn't care about dating in general. Sherlock and John complimented each other, a friendship that seemed destined to happen.

When Moriarty had left seemingly for good, Sherlock had ripped the bomb from his body frantically, still scared for him. John had collapsed against the wall, all that fear leaving him drained. Sherlock was walking back and forth. He had tried to tell John that he was grateful that John had risked his own life so that Sherlock could escape. The only thing John could do was make a joke of the situation, because he knew that Sherlock wasn't comfortable with feelings and what he had heard and seen tonight was the most open Sherlock had been.

But Moriarty had to spoil things again for them, having done so for the past few days. He seemed to slither back into the room, the way he moved was serpent-like.

The red lights that had been present from the beginning of their confrontation came back again, pointed at the both of them not steadily but still never left their bodies. Moriarty was letting them know they were about to die, Sherlock just glanced at John. John could read everything in the misty blue eyes that some called cold, but John called intelligent. John saw the message that Sherlock conveyed in his face about what to do next. John just nodded to let him know he understood.

Sherlock turned to face Moriarty, the ugly mouth of the gun pointed at him. Sherlock lowered his gun to stare at the bomb he had flung away from them earlier, keeping his gaze on Moriarty's dark eyes. John's heart pounded loudly in his ears, but he was ready for what came next.


	3. Sarah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah was expecting John. He wasn't coming.

John was supposed to have been there hours ago. He had called her right before he left his flat, telling her he would be there in less than half an hour. In the few short months she had known him, he was always prompt to their dates. Especially since that very first date, where she had ended up being kidnapped by Chinese smugglers and nearly killed.

It wasn't the best date she had been on, but John and his friend Sherlock had saved her just in time, ending up killing one of the smugglers rather than her. She would never forget that first date with John, for the wrong reasons obviously. But there was something about him, the way he made a joke about how their second date wouldn't be like the first one, the way he looked after her later and reassuring her, kept visiting her to check she was okay without a thought about his own welfare after the incident. He seemed to be used to these kind of situations, but not from his days in the army.

He had told her his life after meeting and moving in with Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective. Before he met Sherlock he was alone and had a limp that wasn't a result of an army injury. Then he met Sherlock Holmes, and within two days they were living with each other. What he told her about those two days were vague, as if he was protecting a secret that only he and Sherlock should know, that the events were important and meant something to them.

She wasn't sure about Sherlock Holmes. He seemed charming at first, introducing himself politely, but he had tagged along on their date, whispering to John during the circus but ignoring her. Then he was thrown off a stage and he and John were fighting one of the Chinese circus men, until she walloped him across the head with a stick. She was quite proud of that.

As they went back to their flat in Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes seemed animated and wanted her gone, obviously. He seemed so absorbed in the ciphers, ruffling his already messy dark hair and snapping answers to her polite questions about his work. She was glad when he hastily left the flat so that she and John could be alone for at least one part of their date. Then everything happened so quickly, she still had to pinch herself to know it was real. She hated thinking about it.

But Sherlock had saved her life, and reassured her, putting his hands on her shoulders in a concerned way. John had taken her home and stayed with her, Sherlock went back to their flat.

The next few months with John were nice, going to the cinema or restaurants. Bizarrely, John never seemed to pay at these restaurants, only saying the owners owed him a favour. She never set foot in the flat after the second time she came there. Sherlock was moody, there was a skull on the mantelpiece and what seemed to be bullet holes in the wall! She kept her distance after that, who knows what else she'd find. Piece of a body in the fridge, she often joked to John, though John only nervously laughed.

John was supposed to come over to her flat, as she had decided she wanted to take things even further with John. She hadn't seen him properly in days, and when they talked on the phone he seemed stressed. From what he told her, he and Sherlock were working on a massive case. Then he she had called him a few hours ago to see if this time he was available, and was surprised to hear he was, the slight edge to his voice gone.

But he didn't turn up. Half an hour past and she hadn't worried because as he was living with Sherlock Holmes, this was normal. An hour, two and now three hours were passing and still no sign of him. She had called his mobile, then their house phone only to have their landlady, Mrs Hudson to answer, saying that both of her tenants had left hours ago to which she was used to seeing by now.

Sarah decided to try Sherlock's mobile, remembering seeing a number on his website once. She was looking for the number when a post by Sherlock himself caught her eye.

"The pool. Midnight." 

What pool? Midnight had passed and still there was no sign of them. Sherlock probably had a case and had taken John with him, for which she was angry that John hadn't called to let her know. But something didn't seem right; there was something deeper in this. She posted a reply on the website and waited for something back. Nothing. She searched John's website for clues, and saw a woman named Molly who might know something.

Molly had a website, and she had posted things about Sherlock and a man named Jim. Molly seemed to fancy Sherlock but then Jim came into the picture. But the most recent post was sent only minutes ago, reflecting the writer's fears about Jim's whereabouts. Did she know something? She wrote a reply.

Sarah couldn't go to sleep, she switched on the telly.

Breaking news! A major explosion in a London swimming pool!

The pool. Midnight.


	4. Molly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim was fine, she knew it. So were Sherlock and John.
> 
> Of course they were.

It had been only hours, and already she was going crazy. At first she was thinking she was overreacting, as it was her nature to do so she had found. But Jim wasn't the type to not call, text, email or not turn up at her flat. Although lately, he wasn't as prompt as he had been in the first weeks of dating, he seemed so interested in her then.

She met Jim when she was getting coffee, another dull day of looking at corpses. Even he hadn't come in that day. He had been the only highlight of her days, and she hated herself for that because she shouldn't be thinking about him. Anyway...getting her third cup of coffee that day she had seen a man standing near the coffee machine. He wasn't tall, but still a couple of inches taller than her. He had short black hair, and only seemed to be in his early thirties. When he looked at her, she had been captivated by his dark eyes. At first, she was uncomfortable meeting his gaze, there seemed to be a darkness inside him...a sort of manic glee when he first looked at her as if he knew who she was. But it disappeared, and now she had dismissed it as nothing. Probably love at first sight... or so she hoped.

He made polite conversation, keeping a steady gaze on hers. Everything was a blur that day, he asked her for a date, and she accepted without a second thought. Until later that day, when she felt guilty for accepting, because there was always...well, him.

He, or Sherlock Holmes to everyone else, never showed any interest in her. He always seemed to dismiss her, answer her monosyllabically, and just plain ignoring her. But he noticed everything about her, the change in her hairstyle, added lipstick, how much weight she'd put on (how did he do that?), everything. Yet, he never seemed to notice how much she liked him, you know, in that way. Not anymore of course! She had Jim...yet she kept thinking about Sherlock.

He treated her badly, she knew that. When he wasn't ignoring her, seeming absorbed in various bodies or data, he was manipulating her to get his own way. She was convinced once that he was actually flirting with her, and even at that time she knew he just wanted her to wheel out a body for him. He showed no interest in her, and no one else apparently if all the rumours about his sexuality were anything to go on. He always seemed to have a friend with him, a...oh, she couldn't remember his name right now. Wasn't he some sort of doctor?

But, oh, he was intelligent and handsome and charming and...No! She was with Jim!

She and Jim had been on numerous dates, and when Sherlock came in with his friend she couldn't help but introduce him to Sherlock. You know, just being friendly, nothing else to it. Sherlock had been really mean at that time, even insinuating that Jim was gay! He listed all the things that implicated that he was gay, yet she couldn't believe it. True, she and Jim hadn't slept together yet, but that was normal, they were taking it slow. Every time she had hinted she wanted to take things further, he always claimed he was busy. Which was nearly almost true, every time she called he wasn't there. Sometimes he wouldn't turn up for work, and she had to make excuses to his boss.

That seemed to happen a lot lately. He seemed to be busy with something, and he never told her what. Sherlock hadn't been to the morgue for a while either.

After the gay situation, where she had bravely yelled at him (and immediately felt guilty for it) and rushed out of the room, Jim was gone. Their date that night was awkward, she couldn't help but look at all the things Sherlock had pointed out that Jim might be gay. His hair did seem precise. They had their first argument that night; she had been questioning him all night about his sexuality. It would be funny if she dated someone who also liked the person she liked, the phone number that he slipped under that dish seeming to confirm that.

But she didn't care if he was gay. It wasn't serious between them, just an office romance. She'd tried calling him, but to no avail. She even wrote on her blog that she was sorry about their fight, hoping that he would see it. But he hadn't so far, he never called her. He didn't even turn up for work.

She browsed the internet, wasting time and stroking her cat, and she went on John's blog. John! That was the doctor's name! Nothing major, some case they'd been working on that seemed important but nothing else, except for a woman named Sarah asking where he was. She checked Sherlock's. It was alright to see what he was doing.

The pool. Midnight.

Hm, strange. Yet, Sherlock's line of work was strange so nothing to worry about. Yet Sarah had written too, seeming to be concerned, asking where John was.

A reply on her blog! Surely this was Jim, accepting her apology...

It was Sarah. Sherlock and John seemed to be missing. Like Jim! Something seemed to be wrong; surely it was only a coincidence. What should she do? It wasn't like Jim not to call, and from what she could see from Sarah's posts, John wasn't either. Sherlock, well that was a different matter. She should call the police, do something!

What was the name of the detective who was with Sherlock? Lestrade maybe...yes that was it. She'll call him, he'll know where they are, then ask him to find Jim. Jim was fine, she knew it. So were Sherlock and John.

Of course they were.


	5. Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never felt guilty about keeping tabs on his brother.

What was he up to now? He couldn't keep up with him, he always managed to come to trouble or disappear easily making it hard to keep track of him.

He never felt guilty about keeping tabs on his brother, having him followed or bugged and checking where he was. He was constantly concerned about him, and what he was doing. Although lately, he was much less worried, due to the appearance of Doctor Watson, who seemed to rein in his brother's- what he would call-idiocy.

His relationship with his brother, Sherlock was volatile to say the least. Sherlock had been difficult since childhood where he always seemed to resent him. While Sherlock preferred to go exploring as a child, making absurd experiments with various dead animals or his clothes, he himself much rather liked reading or doing his work, wanting to make something of himself. He would have liked Sherlock to be like himself-well educated, polite, mix with important people and so forth, yet Sherlock was so far from that.

Sherlock hated schoolwork, much preferring to do things physically rather than mentally. How many times had Mummy told off her precious Sherlock for destroying his bedroom wall? Mummy had to force Sherlock to study-his marks were falling every year-which always resulted in a major tantrum from Sherlock. It didn't help that their mother was constantly comparing the two brothers: "Why couldn't the younger one be like the elder one?"

He always knew there was something different in Sherlock, much like himself. As Sherlock was growing up, he saw the way his younger brother looked at the world, the way he seemed to see everything-just like himself. He had always been able to tell someone's life story and everything about them-and Sherlock had been able to do the same. He thought they would bond with their ability to observe people, being cleverer than everyone else would bring them closer. But they seemed to drift apart.

Maybe it was because Sherlock was a loner, a maverick who was often mistaken. But he never made an effort to get along with people, never wanted to mix with people who could've made him an important person, to have a high-end career. He caused trouble with his observations-uncovering things that people didn't want revealed, causing splits and family rifts, including their own.

Sherlock discovered their father had a mistress, something Mycroft himself had figured out since the beginning of the affair. Yet he never mentioned it because he didn't want to cause a family rift, and they needed to keep their perfect family appearance in order (though Sherlock seemed to be ruining it day by day). Of course, since he learnt that Sherlock had the same abilities as himself, he knew that Sherlock would discover what their father was up to. For a ten year old, it was quite impressive, noticing a faint smudge of lipstick inside their father's collar, the way his wedding ring seemed to be in a different place on his finger-painful red ring marks in a different place, and the fact that the ring was slightly cleaner on the inside. He had seen the way Sherlock had been staring at their father, the usual admiration a young son has for his father disappearing to reveal a coldness and contempt.

Sherlock just blurted the truth out-over a dinner party, and many influential people that Mycroft needed to impress. Sherlock always overreacted in his care for Mummy, and wanted her to know so that she wouldn't be hurt more. Such a naive child. Everyone's reactions and the following consequences changed Sherlock's demeanour: the excited, adventurous, reckless, and naive boy slipping away and in his place there was a cold, hard, reserved, and sociopathic person. It was around that time Mycroft decided to keep a closer eye on his brother.

He watched him going through school, not caring what he got in his GCSE and A Levels, though he always did brilliantly in chemistry. Mummy was concerned for his well-being; he preferred to stay in his room scraping on that retched violin than going out with his friends. He didn't have any friends; all the children seemed to avoid him, scared by his knowledge of their lives. His violin skills improved, however.

The college years were the worst. Sherlock was constantly bored as the years went by, normal pastimes like going to the cinema or going to the pub never occurred to him. Of course, drugs attracted him, whatever he was given it seems. Mycroft had a new job in the government and despite not wanting anyone to know that he had a dysfunctional brother, he wanted to help him. He tried to get him off the drugs, though Sherlock never seemed to appreciate it even to this day. He was the one who suggested that Sherlock should be a detective, judging by the way he read newspapers and seemed to deduce the truth.

When Sherlock was 14, he kicked up a fuss about a story of a boy, Carl Powers was his name, that he had died in a swimming pool, accidental apparently. Sherlock obsessively read the newspapers and came to the conclusion that Carl Powers was murdered. No-one believed him, though Mycroft did. He never stuck up for his brother because who would ever listen to a teenage boy? This was what started their difficult relationship.

When Sherlock had come off the drugs, he followed Mycroft's suggestion and became a private detective, though when business was slow, drugs often made reappearances. His successful solving and deducing attracted the attention of Scotland Yard when Sherlock was about 29 years old, especially from Detective Inspector Lestrade. When Sherlock was solving real crimes and cases, drugs took a back seat, though when there was a lull between cases Lestrade turned a blind eye against the drug-taking, because without him they were useless. Mycroft's attempts to follow Sherlock, bug his flat and his mobile weren't appreciated, Sherlock ignored him preferring to immerse himself in his work, though it did result in Sherlock giving up the drugs. Smoking came in though, yet even that got boring for him, now it was nicotine patches.

Mycroft's worrying of him caused a rift in the family, because it worried Mummy, something Sherlock never wanted to do. The Christmas dinners always a resulted in a verbal fight (Sherlock never won.)

Five years later, and in came Doctor John Watson, out of the blue. His attempt to pay John for information on Sherlock backfired; he noticed that John was already loyal towards Sherlock, something no one ever was. He was concerned that Sherlock was only using John for his own gains, or for some odd experiment he was conducting, but he saw the way Sherlock and John seemed to compliment each other, like missing puzzle pieces finally joined together. Sherlock's bold manners and cold feelings were calmed down by John's caring and thoughtful manners. John was always impressed by Sherlock's deductions, though they were always obvious to Mycroft-people were such idiots (in the words of Sherlock.)

John gets Sherlock out of trouble, saving his life more than once, the taxi driver case springing into mind. Sherlock did the same for John. Their relationship was actually a friendship, a true friendship that he thought Sherlock wasn't capable of. Sherlock trusted him, even though John was quite ordinary in his ways, but seemed special in other ways.

And then this recent case came up. His employees always lost him as he never seemed at his flat, the only real way they could keep an eye on him was through his website. The bug in their flat picked up a few things, like the name 'Moriarty.' Sherlock's refusal to take on the Bruce-Partington plans irritated him, but the posts on Sherlock's website intrigued him. Mycroft stepped up his work on following Sherlock and found some interesting things about Moriarty. Moriarty's work and life was insightful, and watching Sherlock ruining Moriarty's plans was fun.

But Sherlock was gone again. Moriarty had disappeared (he had started keeping tabs on him).

'The pool. Midnight.'


	6. Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was the best they had, unfortunate for some.

It was well nearing midnight, and he was still at the office finishing up paperwork on a case. Well, cases to be correct. It had been a long few days, he would never have done it if he didn't have the best working on it: Sherlock Holmes. It had been utter chaos, one crime after another, one threat every few hours. Sherlock Holmes had solved them all easily, cases that confused others. Sherlock was the best they had, unfortunate for some.

Yet, if it wasn't for Sherlock, all these deaths and threats wouldn't have existed. Someone was after him, and these crimes were all directed at him. And yet, Sherlock seemed to enjoy this, like it was a game or something. It was their professional career, yet Sherlock waltzes in to the office and demands attention for all the work. And he deserved it, doing most of the solving.

Yet Scotland Yard did do its best. He was in the office early in the mornings, and still there late at night, because crime doesn't have working hours.

He needed Sherlock, needed his brain and deductions because he saw things that they didn't, able to see the victims’ whole life history. He walked into a room and saw so much, it was incredible. He did their jobs for them, basically. No wonder most of Scotland Yard hated him, treated him like he was an alien or something. How many times had he heard Donovan call him 'freak'? He didn't stop her doing that because he knew it was the only way she could tolerate Sherlock, because he did all the things she was supposed to be doing, and anyway, it didn't seem to bother Sherlock all that much. He gave as good as he got.

Of course Sherlock irritated him. His arrogance and annoyance just because his mind worked faster than everyone else’s. Constantly withholding evidence, and being angry whenever confronted about it. His inability to get on with the rest of Scotland Yard, believing himself to be better than everyone else.

Yet, he couldn't doubt that there was something about Sherlock, especially when John came along. He had known Sherlock for five years, yet he never saw Sherlock with anyone, going to the pub with a mate. He didn't think he was capable of having friends, because he was eccentric and dramatic and had no social graces. He knew that Sherlock was looking for a new flat and wanted a flat mate, knowing that would be a hard task judging what happened with the last flatmates: a fire, abandonment and prison.

When he saw John for the first time at a crime scene, he couldn't understand why Sherlock had brought him along. Sherlock had explained that he was a Doctor, and that was it. John Watson seemed mesmerised by Sherlock's deducing, something he had not even got over yet. Sherlock was different around John, and in the coming weeks he saw that they had become friends. John tolerated him (to some extent) whereas no one else could.

It had only been two days and they seemed to trust and rely on each other. Though he would never tell Sherlock, he knew that John was the one who shot that cabbie in their very first case; Sherlock had started to deduce who it was before seeming to dismiss it as 'shock.' But it wasn't that hard to figure it out, contrary to Sherlock’s belief that everyone at Scotland Yard was “monumentally stupid.”

He had told John that Sherlock was a great man, and one day he would be a good one. That day hadn't arrived yet, but Sherlock seemed to be more human since meeting John but still being slightly sociopathic-something he would never cease to be.

The last few days had been a nightmare. Someone was intentionally killing people to get to Sherlock, and didn't care who. He had heard a name being whispered around, Moriarty, and when the Czech woman involved with the fake painting had uttered his name, he knew something had to be done. He had his best men and women trying to get information or a lead on Moriarty, but nothing seemed to crop up. For a man who had masterfully planned each and every crime, there was no sign of him anywhere. No one involved in his crimes knew where he was.

Whoever this Moriarty was, he was dangerous beyond belief. He had even used a child in his wicked game involving the fake painting, what sort of man would do that? Sherlock was a sociopath, but this man was beyond human and they needed to get to him quickly.

Sherlock kept writing in that blog of his, posting his answers to each crime on it. He kept looking at the blog, hoping some clue of his own would appear about who Moriarty was. There was someone that left odd postings on there, and sending odd cryptic messages.

He was tired, and wanted to go home. Everyone had worked so hard lately, yet some were still there hoping to finish just before midnight. He would have to give up until the morning, where hopefully Sherlock and John would come in to sort some paperwork on the cases.

Hurried footsteps. His door bursts open.

"There's been an explosion in a leisure centre." It was Donovan.

"Yeah, so deal with it." Then something seemed to click in his head. An explosion.

"Have you phoned Sherlock at all? Heard from him, seen him, anything?" He stood up.

"No...but his website. I was just checking on it, hoping for some lead on this Moriarty person. It mentioned a pool house."

He rushed past Donovan, grabbing his coat and came to face his colleagues.

"The pool house. Now. You heard what happened, get to it!"


	7. Moriarty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He enjoyed being a consulting criminal. No one ever got to him.

It all comes down to this...he wasn't going to let him live, let him ruin every plan, crime, every stroke of genius he organised. No, no, no. One bullet just in the right place, and no more Sherlock Holmes. What a waste that would be, wasted genius. They were so similar, they would work brilliantly together! The world at their feet. Oh, clichés at this moment in time?

Setting up all those little puzzles for Sherlock was exciting, but watching the man himself solve each and every one of them was brilliant. The man was a proper genius: ‘The Science of Deduction.’ But Sherlock was an idiot, or so John Watson once described him. There was so much more in the world, solving crimes or finding a missing hair pin or whatever inane case he had on... nothing compared to actually creating criminals, crimes, fooling the world. He'd got away with so many things...no one's come even close to getting in his way. Until now. Sherlock was in his way, everything he worked for was being destroyed by Sherlock.

He knew from the moment that cabbie had been foiled by Holmes that there was a danger. He crept ever closer to him, destroying his work as if it was nothing. Sherlock didn't see the real art and effort of crimes; it was like he was solving Cluedo. Sherlock wasn't a big threat; he only scratched the surface. But he was getting too close now, him and his pet.

Oh playing with them was such fun. Playing gay, fooling Sherlock. Sherlock was a genius, but he missed a clear opportunity to get to him. He left his number under that dish and mistook it for a sexual gesture. Jim, Jim from the hospital. Brilliant.

Playing these games with Sherlock was entertaining; he could see the real talent of Sherlock Holmes and how much of a threat he was. The dead didn't concern him; they were merely puppets he had discarded so he could find shiny new ones. People die every second, what difference did the people in the flats make? They were nothing, wasteful. People missed so much in the world. They can't see what's going on in reality. Him and Sherlock saw everything and showed the world its mediocrity. It was exhausting dealing with normal people's problems, but there was such fun to be had in creating a world of deceit. The police were always in too deep, they were too simple for his careful planning.

No one knew who he was, he was non-existent. He was a name, a name that was whispered to anyone who wanted to fix their problems. Faking someone's death for money, sponsoring a killer was nothing. He enjoyed being a consulting criminal. No one ever got to him.

But after the case with the Chinese smugglers, he knew something had to be done about Sherlock Holmes. It would have to be him, no one else to get Holmes. Everyone else was too stupid, they would make mistakes. He had to think of more creative ways to get Sherlock Holmes out to play, to play the great game.

Sherlock never failed in letting him down, he was edging closer in getting to him. But it was him that was getting to Sherlock, to get close to him. He didn't want to give anything about himself away before they would meet, using random people to speak for him. They were pawns in their game. None of them affected Sherlock, he was not a hero. The five pips he took inspiration from an old tradition of the KKK in scaring their enemies. The people he used weren't important, he was saving for something special. He didn't give the last pip, giving an element of surprise.

And what joy did Sherlock bring when asking to meet in the leisure centre, thinking all of this had been planned to get his hands on the missile plans. The missile plans was just a ruse, something bigger was at stake. Using John as the next pawn was genius, he knew it would really affect Sherlock. Seeing his pet close to death, the only friend Sherlock had. He himself didn't need any friends, they only caused trouble. Carl Powers made sure he had no friends when growing up, so he made sure Carl no longer had friends as well. The gun Sherlock was holding, pointing at him posed no real threat, Sherlock wouldn't fire knowing John was in danger.

Talking to Sherlock was like talking to a mirror, they were similar but they contrasted; they were on different sides. Sherlock could be like him, but he chose a different life. He couldn't allow Sherlock to continue, Sherlock would lead the police on to him eventually. It wasn't likely; he was the master of leaving no trace behind him, to just disappear.

He had his employees stationed around the centre, ready to signal them to aim at Sherlock and his companion. Red dots shined on their bodies, an urge to shoot. But he needed to play with them one last time. He let me think he would let them live, meet another day. They were gullible.

He had mistaken John for a fool, simply an admirer of Sherlock's. But he threw himself at him, placing his life in front of Sherlock's. Sentimental, Sherlock never had someone do that for him. John had urged him to run, but Sherlock just stood there, never leaving his friend.

He walked back in, his voice echoing in the darkened pool. They were too much of a risk for him to let them continue as they were, to ruin what he did. They were close to the real organisation of what he did, and it wasn't acceptable.

He was gleeful, eliminating the danger. 'Probably my answer has crossed yours.' Sherlock pointed his gun at him and then at the bomb, his ice blue eyes staring into his dark ones. They had removed the bomb that was strapped to John, making sure that he didn't fall back on his word. How wrong they were.

Seconds passed. Then it happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you're all enjoying it. The story takes a different direction after this chapter, so stay tuned!


	8. Dread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She might try their phones again...
> 
> Nothing. Just the constant dialling tone, never stopping.

Sarah's POV

An explosion at a leisure centre, the place that Sherlock had mentioned in his blog. Maybe it wasn't the same place, it could be just a coincidence. John and Sherlock might be home already, having a cup of tea and musing over the last case they had. She might try their phones again...

Nothing. Just the constant dialling tone, never stopping. If they were home, they would not ignore the phone, in case it was another case or something. Something was wrong, she just felt it. It had something to do with that explosion, it wasn't a coincidence. What was the name of the police detective they had their cases from, L something? She couldn't remember the name at all...she just had to wait for a phone call from John, saying he was fine. The television was still on, the screen flashing colourful lights on her pale walls. She had ignored the television in her hopes of being able to contact John or Sherlock. The lights attracted her eyes back to the screen, she couldn't believe that she hadn't looked at it before, to at least have reports on what has happened. ..

"This is clearly a result of a bomb, we have been aware of these kinds of threats in the past couple of days. We are assured that there is no threat to any other buildings at this moment. This is the work of a dangerous individual, and we are dealing with it. Unfortunately there were people in the building at the time, but we can't disclose names of these individuals. I can confirm that there were five bodies discovered at the scene, and three casualties which have been taken to the hospital. We are urging everyone to stay calm and be on the alert for any threats. Thank you."

It was Detective Inspector Lestrade, the name that she had forgotten. There were casualties, dead bodies had been found. Absolute dread filled her heart, John could have been that body, even still, could've been a casualty. She needed to go down to that building, she needed answers from Lestrade. Maybe he could confirm that John and Sherlock had been there, that they were fine, they weren't dead...of course they weren't dead! Sherlock was a consulting detective, he was the best. John was the nicest, funniest, and the most down-to-earth man she had met in a long time. To lose him now, when they had just begun something special, it would...it wouldn't be fair. She didn't really know Sherlock, but she knew that his death would be a massive loss not only to the police, but also to John. She didn't think John could handle the death of his friend.

She had to get down there, she couldn't just sit around doing nothing with only her thoughts for company. She had to know, to speak to Lestrade, maybe even call Molly...she grabbed her coat, and ran out the door.

Molly's POV

She couldn't go to sleep, her thoughts kept her awake. She kept thinking about Jim, worrying why he hadn't called her. But she couldn't forget Sherlock, he lurked there in her mind constantly. She shouldn't care so much for him because of the way he treated her. But she felt something for him, that's why once that Jim shown an interest in her, she knew she had to forget Sherlock. But she couldn't forget him now.

Her phone rang, it was Sarah.

"Molly, I haven't got much time. I've been to the site of the explosion and-"

"What explosion?"

"At the centre...you didn't know?"

"No, how did you?"

"I saw it on the news, turn it on."

"Just did...oh my...Sherlock and John were there?"

"Maybe, but they weren't alone. There were 8 people found in it, 5 dead."

"Are Sherlock and John okay?"

"I...I don't know...they won't tell me. I've been trying to talk to DI Lestrade, but there's police everywhere and they won't let people near enough...but I'll try my best. You still haven't heard from Jim?"

"Not a thing. It's weird that he's disappeared the same night as Sherlock and John, and they met each other recently. They didn't get along, I can tell you that"

"He's probably fine, don't worry."

"I haven't heard from him in so long, I think it's over since Sherlock revealed he was gay."

"Look, I've got to know something of John, I'll call when I know something. Okay?"

"That's alright, I'm worried for them both."

Sarah ended the phone call. She was glad that Sarah was trying to find out what happened to Sherlock and John, she was genuinely worried. But Sarah had mentioned there were casualties...dead bodies. Those bodies would be taken to the morgue, of course. She wasn't supposed to work, but it would be interesting to see these bodies. They wouldn't be there for hours probably, but she would make her way down there now. She turned the news off, went to find her shoes and coat, and walked out the door.


	9. Long night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was hard for him to keep his composure, when assuring others to keep calm.

Lestrade's POV

They had the call about the explosion, and he collected his team quickly. He had to get down there, to see the cause of all this commotion. He had ridden in the car with Donovan, her face white, calm but serious of what lay ahead. He had no idea what to expect, just that an explosion had taken place, he had had no details of how bad it was yet. If he knew before hand, he probably would've sent someone else in his place.

Hell, hell had come to earth. This was the thought in his head at the carnage in front of him. The building’s roof was gone and bits of the walls were gone. Donovan's revelation that Sherlock had mentioned a pool house on his website was the main reason he had come down himself. Hearing of the explosion, he knew the bomber had something to do with it, and he would've called Sherlock in to help. But listening to Donovan say that Sherlock had mentioned the place on his website, he knew something bad must have happened to him. He asked Donovan what the whole post said, and it sounded like Sherlock wanted someone to meet him there. For such a brilliant man, Sherlock could be dense sometimes. He obviously wanted to meet the bomber, and on his own most likely, knowing Sherlock. Why did he have to go meet him alone?

Then he remembered John, he should call him. John would be worried, wondering where his flatmate would be. But he didn't know whether Sherlock was dead or alive at this point, and maybe he wasn't even there! He called John to make sure...

Nothing. No answer, which was odd because he knew John kept his phone on at all times just in case he needed to get hold of him when Sherlock was being difficult, or when Sherlock was in trouble again. But there was no sound from the other side. Could John have gone with him?

Firemen were all over the scene, just making sure the fire had died down. Police were keeping spectators at a safe distance, people desperate to see what had happened. He ducked the police tape, walking closer to the scene. He couldn't go very far, the fireman ordering him to keep away. They must have been at the fire early for it to have been extinguished as it was. Multiple ambulance crews were also there by then, which means that people had been in or near the building. He drifted towards one of them, seeing that there were a lot of them bending over different things.

He counted, and there were five dead bodies. He went over to one of the paramedics, to ask if there were any survivors, knowing that if there were not, Sherlock could be one of the five. The paramedic answered that there were 3 casualties, already gone to hospital. He would have to look at these bodies, make sure he didn't know them. He strode towards the line of bodies already in the body bags, hoping he wouldn't have to see the faces of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson (if he was there at all).

One of the paramedics unzipped the bags one by one, before closing them again. The first, unknown. The second, unknown. The third, unknown. The fourth...he knew him...and the fifth. He knew his face had gone pale, but the shock over seeing them did something to him. In his daze, one of the officers came up to him, telling him he had to make a press release.

"This is clearly a result of a bomb, we have been aware of these kinds of threats in the past couple of days. We are assured that there is no threat to any other buildings at this moment. This is the work of a dangerous individual, and we are dealing with it. Unfortunately there were people in the building at the time, but we can't disclose names of these individuals. I can confirm that there were five bodies discovered at the scene, and three casualties which have been taken to the hospital. We are urging everyone to stay calm and be on the alert for any threats. Thank you."

It was hard for him to keep his composure, when assuring others to keep calm. There was so much to be done, he need to have a look at what was left of the building.

After a while, he heard someone yell his name. It was a woman, he knew her face vaguely. He wouldn't normally go over to watching civilians at a crime scene, but he thought he'd seen her somewhere before and her face was etched with worry, it almost mirrored his.

"Yes, miss?"

"I'm wondering whether you know something of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes."

"You know them?"

"Yes, John is my...we um, work together at a surgery. And I've met Sherlock Holmes once. I saw something on Sherlock's website, and this came on the news. I've heard John mention you a few times and when I saw you make that press release, I had to come down."

"There’s not much I can tell you, I’m afraid."  
“But were they here?”  
“It’s classified information…” The look on her face caused him to falter. He couldn’t leave her hanging. “They were here.”

"Are they okay? They're not...are they...alive?"

"Look, the bodies will be taken away soon, let's go to Scotland Yard before doing anything else."

He led her to a police car, and he ordered Donovan to drive them back to Scotland Yard. It was going to be a long night.


	10. No one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She just had to know, the not knowing was killing her

BARTS MORGUE

It wasn't long before they brought the bodies to Bart's morgue. They must have been anxious to get them far away from the scene of the explosion as possible. People had been crowding, hoping to catch a glimpse of anything they could gossip about later. Molly had been there for a while watching the clock, nervously wringing her hands, downing coffee after coffee to calm her, but only increasing her nerves. It was early in the morning; it looked to be a beautiful day judging by the light blue of the sky.

When the bodies were wheeled in, Molly stood up from her chair. She shouldn't have been working, but she had convinced David, who was on that shift, to let her in, persuading him by revealing what had happened. She had heard there were five bodies, and only three casualties. How there were so many in that building, she didn't know. She didn't even know why Sherlock was there, if it was true that he was. Before the bodies came in, she went on Sherlock's website, searching for some clues. He had written that he would be going to a pool house, as if he was meeting someone. There was no mention of John, but he was missing as well. Sherlock always took John with him to places these days.

There were three of them working tonight, dreading what they were about to see.

Molly set to work at once, her fear of seeing Sherlock or John dragging her there. She just had to know, the not knowing was killing her.

The first body bag she opened, she didn't recognise the man. She couldn't tell much of how he looked before the blast, but she could tell he was only young when he died. Burns covered his face and body, the side of his body mangled. The reminder of his burned clothes was black, singed in places. He must have died instantly, Molly thought. She worked on him for nearly half an hour, before finally zipping the bag back up and ordered someone to take it away.

The other two had been working on two other bodies, as closely as she had done with hers. She made her way to the next one, not looking at the faces of the ones her colleagues were working on. Her hands were trembling as she took hold of the zip, and she decided she couldn't do it without looking at the bodies her colleagues were inspecting first. She walked round the table to David, and took a deep breath before looking down at the body.

It was no one she knew.

She sighed in relief, but chastised herself for doing it a second later. This was still a dead man, and someone out there would wonder where he was. She couldn't imagine what had been going on, this man looked like he was wearing the same clothes as the one she had inspected. Some sort of uniform, maybe? Why were they all in that building?

She walked to where Emma was working, her anxiety building up again. Her anxiety was unfounded, since she didn't recognise this man either. She went back to the body she was about to work on, and opened the bag quickly.

She knew him.

She couldn't breathe.

She stumbled back...she fell to the floor.

SCOTLAND YARD

Lestrade and Sarah sat in the office, their coffees growing cold. Everything that had happened tonight was taking its toll. It was breaking dawn; a faint light was creeping in through the window.

There was a knock at the door, and Donovan walked in. She looked haggard; she hadn't had to work this late in a while.

"Sir, I've just heard from the hospital," she whispered, though she didn't know why.

Lestrade and Sarah both looked up; they hadn't had any more news for hours.

"Anything, Donovan?" Lestrade asked eagerly.

"Two of the casualties have come from surgery, and the third is starting to stir. They've given permission for us to go down there."

Lestrade, hearing this, stood up immediately, and went to grab his coat. Sarah also stood up, but less urgent. She didn't know if she was allowed to go with them. She needed answers as well, what had happened. Lestrade turned to look at her, he looked stern.

"I'm not sure if you should be there. This is a matter for the police."

"I need to know what happened. He can tell me what happened."

Lestrade didn't know what to do; this wasn't a matter for her. But he understood why she needed to go with them. He would do the same if he was in her position.

"Okay, you can come with us. But you'll stay in the waiting-room. No arguments."

He gestured for her to walk in front of him, and then they both left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys :) If someone has read this before on Fanfiction, I'm going to change a few things after this chapter onwards. There won't be major changes, but I felt like taking this in a different direction. Hope you all enjoy anyway!


	11. Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He might not be able to tell us much, he's slightly disorientated. But that's better than nothing, right?"

Hospital

Despite being early in the morning, the hospital was buzzing with activity. Everyone had heard about the explosion in London, doctors and nurses were working overtime, and the press were crowding outside; most of them having guessed which hospital the casualties had been taken to.

Lestrade, Sarah and Donovan walked briskly through the corridors, having already been told where one of the casualties was. The woman at the reception wasn't happy that all of three of them wanted to go into the room at once, but once Lestrade flashed his badge, she quickly told them where the room was. Sarah had refused to stay behind, wanting to be there so badly.

Nurses and doctors were rushing by, engrossed in patients' files, talking to the others, or going from one patient to the next. The patient they were looking for was in a private room, having been taken there straight after casualty. All of them were anxiously walking closer to the closed door. A nurse was hanging around, a clipboard in her hands.

"Excuse me," Donovan ventured. She wanted to ask the nurse about the injuries, before walking in. Sarah, her anxiety becoming unbearable, simply walked past Lestrade and Donovan and opened the door to the private room.

...

He was lying there, looking paler than the white sheets which were tucked beneath his arms. Cuts and burns covered his arms, and a few vicious looking scars were lined on his face. Sarah took a sharp intake of breath and the figure in front of her stirred. Lestrade walked in and stood beside her, just staring at the figure moaning on the bed.

"Is he waking?" Lestrade whispered. He could hear Donovan talking to the nurse outside, and he tried to eavesdrop in order to find out the full extent of his injuries.

Sarah cautiously walked towards the bed, careful not to make too much noise with her footsteps. He opened his eyes, looked at Sarah, before scanning the room for someone else; he barely looked at Lestrade.

"Shouldn't bother asking how you're feeling, right?" Lestrade asked, trying to lift the mood in the room. He wanted to ask so many questions, but was worried that he'd upset the man lying injured on the bed. As Sarah gave him a reproachful look, Donovan entered the room.

"Well the nurse couldn't tell me a lot because I'm not family, but she did give an overview. A few broken ribs, cuts and bruises, concussion and slight damage to the lung-due to the water that they had to pump out of it. They think he hadn't been in the water very long, and he should make a full recovery in a few weeks." Lestrade and Sarah listened intently, while the patient started to come round. "He came round a little while ago, and went back to sleep. It doesn't matter if we wake him now; they need to check on the concussion anyway. He might not be able to tell us much, he's slightly disorientated. But that's better than nothing, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Sarah muttered. As a doctor herself, she knew his injuries weren't serious. But she needed answers now; the worry was taking over her.

"Whe-...where's...where isssss..." He was short of breath.

"John, don't struggle to speak, take it slowly, mate," Lestrade strode over and put a reassuring hand on John's shoulder. John's face turned into a wince, just as Lestrade remembered John had been shot in that particular shoulder in Afghanistan.

"John, its Sarah. You're fine, you're in the hospital."

John tried to shift upwards as if to sit. Three pairs of hands shot out to help him.

"Don't try and overexert yourself, John," Donovan ordered. He took her advice and slumped down. His eyes became more focused, and he turned towards Lestrade immediately.

"Where...is..." he coughed. "Where's Sherlock?"

All three of them looked awkwardly at each other, wondering what they should say. They all knew, but wondered if it would upset John in the state he was in.

"Can you tell us what happened? Anything you can tell us will be good. But don't worry if you can't, just do what you can," Lestrade assured him. "We'll tell you about Sherlock later."

John was becoming more and more present, but the fact that no one told him about Sherlock agitated him.

"Sarah can...you tell me?"

"Later, John," she tried to stay calm and caring. "Tell us what happened first, I swear I'll tell you afterwards. I promise you." She squeezed his hand, and John sighed.

"Fine, fine. You're...more diff...difficult than Sh-sherlock."

Donovan let out a strangled laugh, before turning silent again. This wasn't the time.

"It started when I-I left Sherlock to go...to Sarah's."


	12. Years ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember everything. It all happened in such a blur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been slow in updating, I haven't been well. All good now though! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sherlock and I had been joking about something, something we were watching on the telly. I told him I was leaving for Sarah's, which of course he didn't acknowledge. He even said he'd go and buy milk, something he's never done. I think I expressed a shock at that, and even asked him to get beans, which he also said he'd get. I should have known that he was up to something; he's never that obliging.

I practically skipped out of 221b, whistling as I went along. All of this with Moriarty seemed over with; he'd been quiet for a long time...well, to his standard. It didn't occur to me then that we had only heard four Greenwich pips, when he had been threatened with five. I was just glad to have some normality after the week we had!

I hadn't really talked properly with Sarah for a week, this Moriarty business taking most of my time. We had exchanged some text messages during the week; I was just updating her on the situation. After I ran out of her flat due to the explosion in Baker Street that I saw on the news, she had to know something was up. I explained to her there was someone terrorising London, but I didn't give any specifics. I thought I could tell her a few more things that night, but not so much that she would get worried. Little did I know then that I wouldn't get to see her that night, or possible any night again.

I was walking along, and suddenly I was ambushed. It all happened in such a blur, I can't remember everything. I think I was drugged, but not to such an extent where I completely blacked out. I remember people talking, I remember someone mentioning Sherlock. I couldn't speak...I couldn't move. I had no idea where I was, who had taken me. I had lost all sense of time, it felt like days when I came fully focused again, and a man stood in front of me.

I don't know who he was, he had a slightly Welsh accent and dressed all in black. Sherlock will hate the fact I didn't 'deduce' who he was properly. With everything that was happening...I wouldn't know where to begin! I might have lived with Sherlock for a few months now, but I haven't learned that much about deducing.

This man just stared at me, looking up and down my body. It made me uncomfortable. Then, I didn't know I was wearing something heavy across my chest. When I looked down, there it was. Semtex. I didn't panic or cry. I felt numb, and not just from the drugs. My heart was thudding so hard I was scared the bomb was going to go off just from that. There was a rather bulky green coat on me, clearly to disguise the bomb. I noticed a wire trailing up to my head, and I felt something in my ear. Remembering the fact that Moriarty spoke to his victims in similar ways, it didn't require Sherlock's brain to figure out what it was for. Clearly this was all Moriarty's work. I have no enemies that I know of who would strap a bomb on me. Sherlock, on the other hand, did have an enemy who would do this kind of thing, and been doing it all week.

I must have frozen for a few minutes, because suddenly a voice was speaking to me, repeating my name. John Watson...Dr Watson...Johnny Boy...

I was scared to say anything. To be honest, I didn't want to speak to this...being that had killed and endangered so many people. He was after Sherlock, but I wasn't going to give him to Moriarty. They could do anything to me; I would never give them Sherlock.

'Hello, Johnny Boy! How nice of you to join me. Well, not really as you can't see me, but why ruin the moment? I'm sure you'll see me soon. I know you're so excited for that moment! But I bet not as excited as Mr. Holmes. Me and Sherlock belong in the same world; don't know if there is room for you, Doctor. How about if you walk into the room next to you? Do as I say, dear John, or I'll make you disappear with a bang! Ooh, Sherlock won't be happy about that, will he? His precious blogger. What I will tell you when you enter that room, you repeat. Tu comprend? Good. Off you go, Doctor, off you go!'

He had an Irish accent. The old blind woman described his voice as soft, just before he killed her. It was soft, but it chilled me. It was cold, but also child-like in its tone. It was like he deliberately spoke in different pitch every sentence to make fun of me. He said I would see him 'soon.' Would it be in the next five minutes, next week, next month...? I didn't know if I would live that long. All the other victims had to be saved by Sherlock's brain, how long would he have to solve a 'puzzle' to save me?

I couldn't believe the situation I was in. I would have expected this in Afghanistan, being kidnapped or ransomed, but not in London. To be honest, I didn't envision the life I had with Sherlock either, and even after all that's happened tonight, I wouldn't change it.

Moriarty's words still ringing in my ears, somehow my legs started to move. There was only one door in front of me. I had no idea where I was going to, or where I was at that time; all I knew was that not doing as Moriarty told me would cause me to be blown up. To be honest, I was used to it by now. The guy in front of me in black tightened the coat so when I looked down, even I couldn't tell there was a bomb on my chest. When I looked up again, the man was gone.

As I was edging closer to the door, I heard a voice. I thought it was Moriarty or one of his cronies talking to me again. But this voice was familiar, deep. And wasn't talking to me, but someone else. But there was no response, just this lone voice. I think it hit me that it was Sherlock speaking when I pulled the door open, before setting a foot into the room.

I noticed the pool first, how could I miss it? The blue of the water created an eerie glow about the room, and when I spotted Sherlock, it made him look alien-like. The shock on his face was so vivid, I'll never forget it. Even now I still think betrayal flashed in his eyes for a second, that I had betrayed him. That thought hurt me, but I don't blame him. I was wearing a coat, and I tried my best to act calm. To him, it must have looked cold and certainly my tone of voice when repeating what Moriarty said in my ear was slightly taunting. It was only when Moriarty told me to 'open the bulky coat' and I did what he said, that I saw Sherlock's face change completely. He looked worried, and it even shocked me; I didn't know he cared that much about me. As I opened the coat, red dots appeared on my chest, obviously snipers.

Words were coming out of my mouth, I couldn't repeat them now, and the night's events afterwards have caused me to forget them. After I revealed the bomb strapped to my chest, Moriarty revealed himself. I could hear him, but not see him as he had entered the room behind me and I didn't want to turn around.

Only then did his voice sound familiar to me, and he later confirmed my suspicions by revealing that he was Jim, Molly's boyfriend. Sherlock and I had met him that week, yet dismissed him, barely gave a second thought to. He had given Sherlock his number! All of this could have been avoided. But how could we have known? He had a mind like Sherlock, able to fool anyone.

Only a minute since he revealed himself had Sherlock drawn my gun and pointed it at Jim Moriarty. He still spoke in that child-like tone that he used with me, Sherlock just glared at him. Even though Sherlock's face was still and calm, his voice gave him away at times. He kept glancing at me, like he was making sure I hadn't been blown up when he wasn't looking. He asked me if I was alright, I could only nod. Moriarty had edged closer to me, to us. When Sherlock gave him the Bruce-Partington Plans on the USB, Moriarty just flung it into the pool. Something inside of me snapped; I don't know if it was his manner, his tone of voice, or his actions but seeing him fling the USB into the water made me irritated and I just grabbed hold of him.

I urged Sherlock to run, but did he? No, of course he didn't. If Moriarty's snipers were to shoot me then, Moriarty would die as well, and Sherlock would be saved. I didn't care for myself; Sherlock is worth more than I am. Despite his assertion that heroes don't exist, he has a bit of a hero-complex in him.

Sherlock still pointed the gun at Moriarty, looking shocked and scared. Moriarty made jokes that I was Sherlock's "pet" which only caused me to grip him tighter. Before we could do anything else, a red dot appeared on Sherlock's forehead, causing him to give a slight shake of his head as if to tell me to let go of Moriarty, which I did. Moriarty just smiled, and if it wasn't for the sniper mark on Sherlock, I would have decked him.

Moriarty issued threats towards Sherlock, before unexpectedly saying he had "better be off." Was he just going to leave us alone, no harm done?

"Catch. You...Later." "No you won't!"

I realised then that I had been extremely tense throughout and barely breathing and after Moriarty left the room, I exhaled heavily. Sherlock knelt before me to take off the bomb, asking if I was alright. He seemed manic, over-excited. I just slumped to the floor. He'd dropped the gun on the floor but picked it up again and left to see if there was a sign of Moriarty still there. When he came back, he scratched his head with the gun, something I've told him time and time again to stop doing! I mean, his finger was on the trigger, and he'd already taken the safety off when Moriarty first appeared. The idiot could have shot himself in the head. He even tried thanking me in his own way, saying what I did when grabbing Moriarty was "good." I just cracked a joke in response, something to lighten the mood.

Then the red dots reappeared, more of them this time. I stayed where I was, paralysed on the floor while Sherlock just stood frozen. Moriarty's annoying voice entered the room again, and I just knew this was it. Sherlock just looked at me, didn't say anything. It's like I could hear what he was thinking; I could practically see the options spinning in his head. He looked at me again, and I saw the question in his eyes. I nodded, letting him know all was fine with me.

"Probably my answer's crossed yours."

He spun around and pointed the gun at Moriarty, before dropping his arm a little and pointing to the bomb he sent sliding on the floor earlier. I knew he'd shoot the bomb, I knew he would do it. That didn't make me less scared though, I was mostly scared that I wouldn't reach Sherlock in time and push him into the pool. I was going to make sure that we at least had some form of survival, even if Moriarty didn't.

Moriarty and Sherlock just looked at each other, and I saw Sherlock's finger on the trigger start to tighten. But at that moment, we heard a clacking of footsteps. I wasn't Sherlock Holmes, but even I could tell they were the footsteps of a woman. The door where Moriarty had entered suddenly squeaked open and a tall, thin woman entered.

She had dark brown hair which flowed down to her shoulders, and her skin was slightly pale, but even from this distance I could tell she was beautiful. Her lips were formed in a natural pout, decorated with bright red lipstick. She was wearing a white buttoned shirt and a black skirt down to the top of her knees, and at least four inch heels. Sherlock looked stunned at her, Moriarty just smirked.

"Well well, Mr Holmes. This isn't how I'd imagined we'd meet...Especially in these circumstances, but hey! Why waste an opportunity? Is this THE Doctor John Watson I've been hearing so much about?" Her gaze dropped to mine.

"Ah, Johnny boy, let me introduce you to her," Moriarty's voice cut in. "This is Elsa Williams, an important worker of mine. She's my intelligent know-it-all, she's the one who can see every little thing you do. So brilliant in fact, that even I don't know how she does it."

Sherlock just kept looking at her, like he couldn't believe all of this. After everything that just happened, nothing should surprise him anymore.

"Do you know each other, Sherlock?" My voice having miraculously come back.

"Oh, years ago. Years and years ago, Doctor Watson." She replied, not Sherlock.

She looked like she was in her mid-twenties, which made me wonder how they knew each other. I didn't bother asking, what was the point?

"Elsa is an old acquaintance, John. Nothing romantic like you'd imagine." At times like these, I was glad he could "read" my mind.

"I'm actually surprised to see you, Elsa. I thought you were going to stay away tonight," Moriarty asked.

"And miss all the fun? Don't be ridiculous! I actually wanted to be the one who delivered the final blow to be honest with you, Jimmy."

That was the only time I actually saw Moriarty look genuinely shocked. "Really? Go ahead."

She pulled a gun out of the back of her skirt, and pointed it towards Sherlock. He didn't flinch, nor give an indication he cared. The red dots on us disappeared, but she had her gun. I couldn't move, I knew my original plan of diving in the pool and pushing Sherlock in at the same time wouldn't work because there were snipers still here. Why didn't Sherlock just shoot the bomb?

But I saw the woman smile at Sherlock, not a cold and mocking smile, but a genuinely warm smile as if to reassure him.

"Do you think I should do it, Sherlock? Would he be proud of me?" I had no idea what she meant.

"Do it, you know you want to. And yes, I think he would. Though he'll berate you later for it, have fun with that." Sherlock's voice sounded weird, like he was amused.

And then she did something I didn't expect. The hand that was holding the gun pointed at Sherlock swung to the right of her, and pointed at Moriarty. He must have thought it was a joke because he gave a small laugh and shrugged his shoulders.

"You always knew how to be dramatic, Elsa. That's why you've been such a brilliant employee to me."

"Isn't it nice you'll get a last laugh before I shoot you? Don't think I won't do it; I've been waiting for this moment for ages. And the name isn't Elsa Williams. It's Arianna." Moriarty's face when she uttered that name turned to horror. And that's when she shot him. And before the snipers could retaliate, Sherlock looked at me ("the original plan, Dr. Watson.") and then shot the bomb.

...

3rd person POV

Donovan, Sarah and Lestrade looked at each other, like they couldn't believe it all. Moriarty had been shot? Was he dead? There were five bodies gone to the morgue, one of them must be him. They hadn't seen the other two casualties, but they knew one was Sherlock. Was the other one the woman?

"Donovan, go and check up on the third casualty. If it's her, we'll need to interview her soon. If she's able to, of course," Lestrade ordered. Donovan just nodded her head and left the room. Sarah sat in the chair next to John's bed. John looked exhausted, and Lestrade couldn't blame him know that he knew what he'd been through. Minutes past without any words being spoken by anybody; John was the first to speak.

"Where's Sherlock?" his breathing having calmed a little since the start of the story.

"He's fine, John," answered Lestrade. "We didn't want to worry you earlier, but he just had a minor surgery to remove some shards that had entered his body. They weren't big, but one was close to puncturing his lung, but he's fine. How did he end up with more injuries than you?"

"He spun us around so I entered the pool first, even though I pushed him with speed."

"Well we'll check up on him in a few, we want answers from him as well. Don't worry, John." John looked irritated at this. "We won't pressure him or anything. Seeing as you gave us the name of the woman, we might be able to get an answer to who she is from Sherlock. Or from her, of course."

"Well you'll find out sooner rather than later." Donovan walked back into the room. "Holmes is awake, and already starting to boss people around. He's fine, John. A little sore, he's on pain killers, and I think he's more worried for you than himself, to be honest. Shall we go over there now then? He actually requested for you, Sir."

"I'm coming with you," John uttered. "Don't look at me like that, Sarah. I'll be fine in a wheelchair, Lestrade will help me into it." Lestrade nodded and went to ask for a wheelchair. Though the nurse wasn't thrilled at this idea, she knew John Watson was a Doctor and frankly, she didn't want to be harassed by the police all night.

When John has been slowly moved to the wheelchair, with only a few moans of pain, they set off to Sherlock's patient room.

He was awake, his eyes shining like they usually did. He heard the others coming down the ward before seeing them, and knew they would have brought John too. That didn't stop a small smile creeping on his face, which disappeared when they appeared in his room.

"John." He gave a nod in his direction.

"Sherlock. Glad to see you alive," John smiled at him.

"And you, John. Lestrade, I imagine you have a few questions for me. John has told you much of it, or else he wouldn't be here. You want to know who the woman is, don't you?"

"Care to tell us, then? Unless it's too dangerous of course, if you want her identity to remain secret," Lestrade hastily added.

"Not at all. Mycroft will find out somehow, so might as well tell you. Firstly though, is she okay?"

"She's stable. Not many injuries- a concussion, minor burns, smoke inhalation, cuts and a broken rib. It seems you got the worst of it," Donovan was the one who answered.

"Well seeing that I was nearest to the bomb, yes I'd say so. Who knew you had geniuses in your gang, Lestrade." Despite his injuries, his sarcasm was as strong as ever.

"She's asleep now, freak. So mind telling us who this 'Arianna' is?"

"Arianna," everyone seemed to be holding their breath "is a CIA agent. Haven't seen her for years, not since she was 21 years old. She's 27 now."

"Is that it?" John asked.

"What else do you want, her full name? Fine." Silence filled the room. "Arianna Gloria Holmes, my sister."


	13. Resemblance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few injuries is not going to stop me speaking to my big brother and his Doctor.

"Sister?" 

That was the question that echoed around the hospital room. No one could believe it. John thought he had started to understand Sherlock more in the last few months, but the fact that he hid something of this magnitude brought him back down to earth. Even Lestrade, who had known him for over five years didn't know that much about Sherlock Holmes. Yes, they had all heard of a brother, though only John had actually met him.

"Sherlock, you have a sister?" John asked astonishingly. "And you didn't bother telling me?"

"It never came up," Sherlock gave a small shrug, though he winced a bit while doing so. "I haven't seen her for nearly six years, the occasional texts and emails maybe. And neither of us has been home for Christmas, birthdays and so on in that time either."

"Oh, Sherlock, please don't say you deleted the fact that you have a sister." John would be so disappointed in Sherlock if this was true.

"John, do you really think I would do that? I may not know who runs the country, but I know who my sister is. And what if I had? She works for the CIA, I could protect her."

The fact that Sherlock was offended by that question from John showed everyone just how much his sister meant to him; though he hadn't said so in actual words. Then John remembered something.

"Wait. Moriarty knew about Arianna. She said her name before she shot him, and his face dropped, like he had heard it before!"

"He was Moriarty, of course he knew. Though how he could have missed the fact that SHE is my sister, we'll never know. There's a bit of a family resemblance."

"I think there's a mix of Sherlock and I in her." The voice came from the door, and when everyone whipped their heads around (with the exception of Sherlock who just huffed and rolled his eyes) they saw Mycroft Holmes. Only John actually recognized him as Mycroft, having met him several times before, but Lestrade and Donovan had only heard he had a brother.

"Oh god, if I wasn’t in pain already…" Sherlock exclaimed. Everyone except John looked puzzled at this, but John just laughed quietly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock. You're injured; don't you think a big brother would be concerned? Plus, Arianna has been involved; clearly I would need to come down here immediately."

"Who did you hear it from?" Sherlock asked with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Those imbeciles you have watching John and I? Fire them; they could have done more to help us."

"And who do you think alerted the police, Sherlock?" Mycroft retorted. "Plus, you didn't have to blow up the whole building you know."

"Those snipers would have got us. I knew we would have had a chance of survival if I just shot the bomb. By jumping in the pool, we missed most of the impact, while the snipers who were near the walls would have felt it immediately. The building would crumble a bit, and the snipers would be in the way."

"Well you're lucky that no serious harm came to Arianna," Mycroft was disapproving, but there was a hint of admiration as well. "Oh, and you and John of course."

"Have you seen her?" No one could miss the subtle worry in Sherlock's question.

"She's fine. Will be waking soon, I'd imagine. And making her way down to see you, knowing her stubborn determination."

"Why would she do that? Tell her not to worry about me. I don't even know why all of you are here now. Shouldn't you be clearing all of this up, Lestrade? And Donovan, Anderson would be jealous of your concern for me. Go and bestow it on someone who wants it." Even while injured in hospital, Sherlock was testing everyone's patience. "John, you can stay of course. Mycroft and Sarah might go and have a horrible cup of tea from the canteen."

Everyone looked at each other, not sure if anyone would leave. It was Mycroft who made the first move.

"I will go and check on Arianna one last time, and then I must head to the office. Must clear up your messes, dear brother." Sherlock just huffed in response. "Detective Inspector Lestrade, I suggest you do the same, before your shift ends. Wouldn't want something like this causing panic in London." With that, Mycroft sauntered out of the room.

"Um, okay. Donovan, we'll need to head to Barts anyway, check what they have found out about the dead bodies." He sighed, before looking at Sherlock. "I knew two of the dead bodies already. They were police officers. I guess they weren't really, must have been a part of Moriarty's snipers. God, I really hope Molly isn't working tonight."

"Why?" Sherlock looked intrigued.

"One of the men was a boyfriend of hers. I’m sure it will be a shock to her." Lestrade noticed Sherlock and John looking at each other oddly. "He must have been a part of Moriarty's gang as well."

"Did John tell you that Arianna shot Moriarty, Lestrade?”

"Yes, he did. What about it?"

"She had started dating a man called Jim. Jim Moriarty. No wonder he died, Arianna shot him and I then blew up the building.”

Lestrade didn't have a clue what to say in response. Arianna Holmes had shot Jim. But Lestrade was confused. 

“Her boyfriend, or ex, was called David Sotherby. That’s one of the bodies I saw, Sherlock. The other one was Michael Jenkins, both police officers. I didn’t even know she was dating someone called Jim.”  
“Wait.” John looked incredulous. “But Moriarty must be one of the dead. How many dead bodies were there?”

“Five.”

“Well if you recognised two, the other three were strangers to you. One of them must be Moriarty, it has to be!” John was becoming agitated. The thought that Moriarty survived that was ridiculous.

Donovan and Lestrade looked at each other. “We’ll go and check with Barts, and we’ll report back to you.”

“Yes, please do that.”

"Okay, so we've got lots to do. Thanks for letting us know, guys. We'll want to question you when you're feeling better. Donovan, let's go. We'll see you all later." Sarah had not moved through all of this, and the fact that Molly's boyfriend was Jim didn't really surprise her. Didn't Molly herself tell her that Jim had gone missing that night?

"Sarah, want to come down with us?" Donovan's question startled her from her thoughts. She didn't want to leave but John wasn't going to leave Sherlock's side right this minute. She might as well go home, and not stick around and drink coffee like Sherlock had suggested.

"Are you going to be okay, John? Don't worry about coming back to work, focus on getting better. I'm glad you're okay, Sherlock."

"Oh, thank you." Sherlock was surprised at this, considering she barely knew him. But he bid her goodbye anyway, hiding the fact he was glad she was going.

"I'll call you tomorrow," John responded. He was looking forward to getting some normality back when he got out of the hospital, and he could spend more time with Sarah now. Sarah got up and left the room with Lestrade and Donovan, a small smile on her lips for the two men, and they were gone.

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief, closed his eyes for a brief moment, and opened them again to look at John. John's eyes were roaming around the room, but they landed on Sherlock's gaze. Both burst out laughing.

"We couldn't have made a bigger mess than we did tonight," Sherlock joked. "If I knew about the consequences, all this fuss and attention from Mycroft and the rest, I would have let those snipers shoot me." This statement had a sobering effect on John's mood.

"We could've been killed tonight, Sherlock. To be honest, I expected to die when I threw myself over Moriarty, giving you time to escape," John looked more closely at Sherlock's face. "Why didn't you just leave that place?"

"And miss all the action? I don't think so, John." Not even Sherlock believed that lie. "Well, um, I couldn't let you die for me, wasn't going to leave you alone. I don't think I could move anyway, you caught me surprise. You always seem to do that; do things that I don't expect from you."

"Shall I take that as a compliment, then?" John smiled again. "I would do it anytime, Sherlock. But don't make a habit of meeting arch-villains on your own again. Deal?"

Sherlock laughed, and ignored the pain it caused to his ribs. "Now that I know what you're capable of, Doctor Watson? Certainly not. And of course, a blogger needs to be present at these sorts of things."

"So," John changed the subject. "Moriarty is or is not dead. Think we can go back to normal now? Well as normal as we usually are."

"If he is alive, I’m sure he’ll visit us sometime again. There are plenty of Moriarty's "people" out there, John. Might take a while to get rid of them, but I'm sure Mycroft will deal with most of them. I dare say someone else just like him is after me, biding his time.” John didn't think it was a trick of the light that Sherlock's eyes flashed with excitement at this prospect.

"Or her. You never know, there might be a female out there holding a grudge against you." It was meant as a joke, but John knew Sherlock; anyone could hold a grudge against him.

"Possibly. And about Arianna," the change of subject by Sherlock startled John for a second. "I may show lack of feelings and emotions at times, concerning cases and victims and so on. I don't have many friends; you might be what people would call my "best friend." But Arianna means more to me than anyone else; despite the reason she was born in the first place."

In all the time John knew Sherlock, he'd never heard Sherlock open so much about himself. It was nice, he thought, but the normal Sherlock was still there.

"But I rarely worry for her, like Mycroft is. She's old enough to do what she wants, and look after herself. If she's in any trouble, she'll always get herself out of it. I think that's why Mycroft struggles with her so much; her personality and ways are much more like mine. Although infinitely more stubborn."

"God, that's a scary thought," John exclaimed. Another Sherlock Holmes type? He sighed. "Will I get to meet her then?"

"I'd imagine after she recovers, she'll go back to her normal work," as he said this, his eyes flickered quickly to the door and back. "But now might be appropriate. Come in, Arianna."

Being pushed in a wheelchair by a nurse was Arianna Holmes. And John understood Mycroft's comment somewhat; she did have a resemblance to Sherlock. The dark curly hair, pale, and green/blue/grey eyes, the shape of her face. But there was something not quite Sherlock enough in her either, something a bit Mycroft but he couldn't place it what it was. She was really pretty, John thought, instantly feeling guilty for thinking it because she was his best friend's sister.

"Hello again, brother." She gave a small smile, but like her brother earlier, she winced in pain when doing so. "Sorry to interrupt, but a few injuries is not going to stop me speaking to my big brother, and his Doctor."


	14. The Mole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Someone has to clean up your messes, haven't they?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry there's been a delay: I had a horrible essay to write, it was awful. Not only did they expect us to do it in a week, they wanted us to read 3 new novels and do some work on those in the same week; never going to happen. But all done now, and Easter is nearly here! 
> 
> The last chapter will hopefully be posted before Sunday.

Arianna was wheeled further in to the room so she was on one side of Sherlock's bed, John on his other side. The nurse asked if Arianna was okay, left the room and closed the door. Sherlock and Arianna stared at each other for a minute before Sherlock broke into a smile.

"Don't worry about the amount of work you'll miss while you're recovering. Your main mission is over," Sherlock remarked.

"Someone has to clean up your messes, haven't they?" Arianna replied with a laugh.

"Oh, don't worry. Mycroft will be doing all of that, as he was so kind to tell me earlier."

"So that's why he was hanging around my room earlier." She rolled her eyes and huffed. "I pretended to be asleep so as not to speak to him."

"How he still believes you're always "sleeping" when he comes to talk to you after all these years’ amazes me," Sherlock laughed.

"Yeah, well. I had enough lectures from him when I was a teenager. That's why I decided to work abroad for a while. That left you to be on the receiving end of Mycroft's lectures. Though I should be grateful to him for getting you off the dr-"

"Yes, grateful. Whatever." Sherlock quickly glanced at John, while John pretended not to have understood.

"Sherlock, Dr Watson is not stupid. You don't have to pretend not to understand, Dr Watson," Arianna smiled kindly at him. "We all have something in our past we're not proud of. We've just been lucky that we have someone in our lives to correct us. Like my brother did to you. What happened to the walking stick after the "Study in Pink" case?"

"Oh, I pu-", John began to answer.

"'Study in Pink!' You also read his blog? No wonder all the psychopaths and the boring cases come to me, if they all read your blog, John." Sherlock huffed.

"But I also remember you saying, Sherlock, that you'd "be lost without your blogger."'

"And of course I read his blog, Sherlock. Moriarty asked me to spy on you, basically. He got rather obsessed with the blog. It is very entertaining, Dr Watson." Sherlock just huffed again.

John blushed a little. "Um, you can call me John. But can I ask something? What exactly did you do for Moriarty? You said you spied on us, but how exactly?"

She looked thoughtful for a while, looking at Sherlock briefly before clearing her throat. "We've known about Moriarty for a while now, the CIA. I started working there when I was still a teenager. No one in my family was pleased about that because they wanted me to go to University. But I always admired what Sherlock and Mycroft did, don't ask me why. Of course, Mycroft pulled a few strings to get me in; I would have never got in by myself, especially at my age. Trained for a few years, and got some "missions" under my belt. But none as big as this Moriarty business. Only a few of us knew about him in the beginning because the stuff he did were dangerous, but extremely subtle. But once his ventures got bigger, the more we started to notice. We tried tracking him down, no luck. We decided to just follow what he did and try and catch him. It was only months ago that things changed, and that's when you entered the picture, John. I had talked with Mycroft, and he said you blogged about Sherlock, so I checked it out and what name did I see in the Study in Pink post? Moriarty. I went back to Mycroft and asked him what I should do, as there was no point going to my boss, he would take me off the case knowing Sherlock was involved. We got hold of some police files of some recent cases, and although Sherlock's name was never mentioned, I knew he had to have solved them; Scotland Yard is not that good. It came to me that Sherlock had stopped some of Moriarty's criminal goings-on and Moriarty had to have noticed. He was then starting to target you, Sherlock. The only way to get hold of Moriarty was to infiltrate his criminal ring. Could we have stopped him right then and there? No. He would know immediately, so someone had to stay there to gain his trust. That role came down to me. Surprisingly, he did trust me. You must've realised, John, there's a family resemblance between Sherlock and I, but there's a hint of Mycroft in me and my manners, and I don't think Moriarty had ever seen Mycroft. Jim believed I was Elsa Williams because I wanted him to believe I was someone else. I guess, John that you've seen my brother acting his way out of things. Family trait, honed from years of watching Father. He would lie about his whereabouts all the time, act like everything was perfect in our family to everyone else, but we were far from it."

"Mummy knew he was lying, Ari," Sherlock interrupted her. "She just chose to ignore his infidelities."

"Yes, and he thought getting Mummy pregnant with me would make her busy, thus making her oblivious to his shenanigans. I wasn't the long-wished for daughter, Sherlock. I was just a product of his twisted logic." John felt instant sympathy for her, but didn't say anything.

"Anyway, a few changes to my appearance and act a bit differently got me Moriarty's trust. I told him I was good with keeping track of people, and he put me in charge of your surveillance. I don't think he ever knew how I could keep track of you all the time. He had his methods, of course. Knowing that my brother could control CCTVS, I asked him for a favour. Don't worry," she noticed Sherlock and John looking at each other, "I didn't see anything I shouldn't have had. Nothing with you changing clothes, and so forth. I had to give Moriarty some details, but I also tried to protect you. You both could've made my job a lot easier if you didn't keep inviting trouble! Running around London at early hours is no fun for me to watch, believe me. Then Moriarty decided to get personal. Those pips, the bombs, the phone calls were all his idea of fun, but you could sense his frustration that Sherlock solved everything. He was so serious about getting to you, that he lured poor Molly into thinking he liked her and acting like the "guy from IT". I couldn't come to you to warn you, he would have known straight away. Mycroft knew I was undercover, of course. But I didn't even tell him the whole truth, because he had managed to stay out of Moriarty's radar for all this time and I wasn't going to ruin things now."

"Mycroft and I can look after ourselves, you know."

"I'm tired of you two having to look after me all the time! I wasn't there when you had your drug problems, I'm here now. Everything came together for Moriarty when he saw your blog post about meeting each other. How I wish I could've seen it first! Moriarty laid out his plans, made sure he had enough snipers with him and told me to keep an eye on things. He didn't tell me about taking John hostage that night, but I should've known. Sorry about that, John."

"Don't worry about it! Everything turned out fine in the end…nearly."

"Arianna, my blog post went up just seconds after John left the door. How could Moriarty have got to him so quickly?"

"He had always planned on John being the final pip, Sherlock. He must have had other people spying on you that I didn't know about. Once your post was up, they must have got the nod to take John. Again my apologies, John. I guess that's my weakness, thinking I can save everything and everyone entirely on my own. I had been feeding some stuff to the CIA and we all made a decision that I had to take Moriarty out that night, as I knew he was going to kill you both. Well, you know the rest."

"Why didn't you contact me sooner? We could've got him."

"It was hard enough gaining his trust, Sherlock! He would be keeping an eye on me as well, you know. I was just lucky that I had my CIA skills where I could go to Mycroft without him noticing."

The room went completely silent, everyone wanting to say something but couldn't. John understood the difficult mission she had done, but thought of all those innocent people killed by Moriarty's orders, and how they could've finished all of this sooner. But he couldn't help feeling sorry for Arianna either, and he would always be grateful to her for saving their lives. Who knew if he and Sherlock would've made it out alive if Sherlock had shot the bomb first.

Sherlock contemplated everything. Moriarty, the most dangerous criminal he'd ever encountered had disappeared from a place where he should have died. He must be still alive. He shook himself to delete those thoughts, ignoring the looks of concern on both Arianna and John's faces.

"So, what will you do now?" Sherlock asked Arianna.

"Heal? Go back to work, probably. Although I might make some time to hang out with you two. Hours of watching you showed me that life with you would never boring!" Everyone smiled. She looked at her brother. "I've missed you, Sherlock. The occasional phone call and email at special occasions were nice, but I needed to see you. Work took me all over the world, and you were busy starting to be a consulting detective."

"Plus, neither of us wanted to go home all that much to see Father."

"I bet Mycroft will have told them about all of this. I couldn't care less what Father says, but I don't want to worry Mummy."

Before Sherlock could say anything, there was a knock at the door, and Mycroft came in.

"Nice to see you awake, Arianna. I want a word with you." He closed the door.


	15. The Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well if I knew you were coming over, I might have made more effort."

Even though they'd been out of the hospital for about two weeks, the amount of fussing Mrs Hudson was doing over them was still going strong. Not that Sherlock and John complained.

They were slowly recovering from their injures, but neither of them had done any work over this Moriarty thing; Mycroft dealt with everything. John had a sense that this annoyed Sherlock, but he didn't know how; that Mycroft was clearing things up, or that Moriarty was still possibly alive. It unnerved John that Moriarty survived being shot and a building blowing up, but this was the ‘consultant criminal.’ He must have had other people on the scene in case something went wrong.

Despite Mycroft's involvement, it didn't stop Scotland Yard from hounding them with questions and making them write statements and so on. Sherlock loved solving cases, but this is the one thing he wouldn't mind not doing in his professional life. And the endless chatter with Lestrade of course. Even Molly had come round, all teary eyed and confused. She had seen her ex-boyfriend’s body and couldn’t understand what he was doing there. She was also upset that she hadn’t heard from ‘Jim from IT’ either; neither John nor Sherlock were going to tell her yet. It took a lot of unnecessary effort for Sherlock to calm her down and reassure her, and to just let her get on with things.

Sherlock was starting to get bored, and it took a lot of arguing with Lestrade and John to persuade him from taking any more cases until he was completely better. John didn't want to rush back to work. Sarah had been good in the past week, but he couldn't take much more of attention from her. Mrs Hudson's fussing was enough!

Sherlock was spread on the sofa in his pyjamas and dressing gown, his hands together in a prayer position and sighing, while John was sitting in his usual chair reading when they heard a knock on the door of Baker Street. Neither of them moved because they knew Mrs Hudson would answer it, bless her.

A low murmur was the only thing that could be heard, and then the light footsteps that could only be Mrs Hudson's; confirmed by her usual tap on the door.

"Only me, dears," she came in. "There's someone who desperately wants to see you, Sherlock. For an important case, and keeps insisting that you listen. I said you were just recovering from an accident, and will not be taking cases, so I to-"

"Let whoever it is up here!" Sherlock jumped up quickly, only a twitch of his face indicating how much pain it caused. "I'll do it. Thank you Mrs Hudson."

She shook her head, but went back downstairs regardless. Another low murmur could be heard. Even lighter footsteps could be heard on the stairs, much quicker in comparison to Mrs Hudson's. When the person entered the room, they understood why.

"You didn't even change out of your pyjamas to greet me? Tut tut, Sherlock."

It was Arianna.

"Well if I knew you were coming over, I might have made more effort." Sherlock gave a little smile.

"Nah, don't worry about it. I've seen you in a worst state," she went to sit down on the sofa, making sure Sherlock sat beside her. "So, how are you recovering?"

"Very well. Bored out of my mind, as John and the others won't let me do anything else. How are you up and about so easily?"

"Oh please, I've had worse injuries than that. Small bit of pain, nothing I can't handle. Not you though, you caught most of that blast. It was very noble of you to put yourself before John."

Sherlock started to turn red, and only shrugged his shoulders in response. John had been silent thus far, so he decided to speak up to get rid of the awkward silence.

"So, what have you been doing lately?"

The Holmes' were now doing a mind communication or something, John thought. Both looked at each other not even blinking, and John's question startled them. Arianna smiled at him.

"Oh, not much really. My bosses were glad to have me back in one piece, and I'm leaving London tomorrow for another mission."

"So soon?" John exclaimed.

"I can't have special treatment because of Mycroft's influence, despite what he threatens. And I'll be glad to get away." She turned to Sherlock. "Mummy's been trying to call me every five minutes, obviously wanting to fuss and berate me for getting involved. I take it she's been hassling you as well?"

"Unfortunately," Sherlock sighed. "Mycroft told them all about what happened, of course. Any word from Father?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock. According to Mycroft, he's "out of town." But I think what happened a few weeks ago has shaken Mummy a bit, and she's starting to realise some truths."

"£100 Father's gone before Christmas," Sherlock said as he held out his hand.

"How stingy are you? Fine, I say after New Year, when she'll give that whole speech about 'new beginnings and seeing the light.' £200 on Father worming his way back a week after she does it?"

"Got yourself a deal, Ari," and they shook hands.

A long silence followed this, but it was more of an understanding this time rather than awkward.

"I think I should go then, leave you boys to recover," Arianna stood up.

"No, you don't have to," John was the one who replied first. "I'll leave you two alone, have some family time."

Arianna just laughed. "Oh Dr Watson, you are very kind and thoughtful. I see why Sherlock likes to hang around with you; you're considerate. But I need to go anyway, but we will see each other soon." She walked up to him and stuck out a hand, which John dutifully shook. Sherlock had by now stood up slowly.

"I promise I won't be a stranger this time, dearest older brother. If you need me, though I doubt you will," she turned her eyes towards John, "let me know. I missed you, Sherlock."  
Sherlock crossed the room and hugged Arianna. This was the first time John had seen Sherlock give someone a genuine hug, and he felt like he was intruding a moment. Again.

"Come on, we're making John uncomfortable here," Arianna chuckled. They both let go, and she walked towards the door.

"Behave. Both of you! Although, if old Jim comes back again, please let me know. I look forward to another confrontation." She started to walk down the stairs, but turned back.  
"I won't be at the Holmes Manor for Christmas, and I doubt you will go. Think I might change some plans and join in the festivities for once with my big brother." She winked, and then she was gone.

"How the hell is she your sister?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone :)


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